ROOM SERVICE
by Krato
Summary: Dempsey always knew it would happen one day but now it has, why does it feel like they're in limbo?
1. Cold Comfort

A new story. I've written the whole thing but I'm still in the titivation stages with the rest of it.

 **ROOM SERVICE**

 **Chapter 1 – Cold Comfort**

Leaning up on one elbow, he watched as she gathered up her things.

He realised then how much he disliked this part of the proceedings. After the endorphin-soaked intimacy of love-making, the ritual of a hasty departure reduced it down to cold, functional sex.

There was an awkwardness, not in her actions but in the atmosphere it created and he knew she was aware of it too. He wanted to challenge her dispassion. She purposefully created a gelidity within the room with her aloofness that made him question what she was even doing here in the first place.

She refused to make eye contact, picking up her white leather handbag and disappearing into the en-suite bathroom without a word.

The tangled mass of thin, crisp sheet lay like stiff meringue peaks at the foot of the bed and dragging it up to his chest he flopped back onto the pillow dejectedly.

It shouldn't be this way.

He gazed across at the far wall and noted the framed print of a stylised New York skyline. Different room, same artwork. He hated that about hotels; that homogenised, photostat feel, the repetition involved in the silent, windowless corridors, the layout of the rooms with their identical beds and linens, chairs, carpets, curtains and white utilitarian bathrooms all the same, all characterless.

For a couple of hours, they had breathed life into this soulless box, gasping, panting, sighing, whispering breath. Sound and motion had transformed their spartan surroundings into a private utopia as pleasure rang out loud and skin journeyed over skin.

He'd wanted to take her someplace better than this after that first time, but she'd refused.

What did it matter? She'd asked. It was reasonably priced, clean and served its purpose. But still, he'd wanted something worthier of her.

He could hear the shower running.

Their time together was nearly over – until the next time she snapped her fingers. That she called the shots was almost an unspoken rule now. But who was he to argue? Whatever morsel of gratification she was prepared to throw him, he would bow down at her feet and eat it up.

He was playing it cool of course but she knew she had him on a leash.

He could recall each of their encounters with exactitude. Dates, times, the clothes she wore, the lingerie she had fired his senses with and the subtle perfume and worked-for sweat that mingled with the cotton sheets. He remembered every word she had uttered from those sweet, full lips whilst she rocked his world. He _had_ to remember everything because he didn't know how long this thing would last.

He heard the snick of the lock and the bathroom door opened. Why did she feel the need to lock herself in there? What was it she had to hide from him when he knew every inch of her now? Was she really that scared of confrontation after the event? Each time they had been to this place, their goodbyes had been brief and perfunctory, bordering on formal. She had set the tone and he had followed, understanding that it was part of the game, the role play, the thrill of this new angle on their relationship. But he needed so much more than that. He knew she was deliberately shutting him out and guessed she was maybe enjoying that feeling of power.

"It's still early," he said, sitting up and stretching languidly. "Wanna grab a bite to eat?"

Swinging around to face him, having retrieved her dusky pink long-line jacket from the narrow wardrobe, he was disheartened by her coolly neutral expression. "Sorry, I've got plans," she said, slipping the jacket on over her chambray blue t-shirt dress.

 _With who?_ he stopped himself from asking. And it probably wasn't his business although it kind of bothered him that whoever she'd made her plans with would, like him, be aware of the fact she was no longer wearing a brassiere. The stretchy cotton fabric draped and clung to her naked torso in a way that left little to his keen imagination and he let his eyes slide lower to check for VPL. A subtle line confirmed those pale pink silky panties hadn't been omitted though.

It was abundantly clear that he was being used for sex and it had both surprised and confused him at first. Now it hurt him too.

She bent forward and kissed his cheek lightly. "I'll see you in the morning," she said quietly and there was a warm smile on her freshly glossed lips as she drew back.

He watched her walk to the door, legs looking tanned and svelte in those white court shoes.

"Enjoy your evening."

He didn't think she'd even heard him as she strode out into the hallway and let the door slam shut behind her.

* * *

Chapter 2 coming soon


	2. Lady Liberty

**Thank you for all the reviews of the first chapter although they've got me a bit worried now about how believable this story will seem. I just hope I can get across the emotions and reasoning behind their actions in the backstory.**

 **Chapter 2 – Lady Liberty**

"You around later?" she asked in earshot of several of their colleagues. "I'd quite like to go over a few things with you."

The tenting of the crotch area of his jeans would indicate that Dempsey knew exactly what that would entail.

"Yeah, no problem." He wouldn't see her for the rest of the day as Fry had been assigned to her for training purposes so he would be doing his own thing.

"Six-thirty?" he asked.

Harry threw him a suggestion of a smile in acknowledgement. "Fine."

And that was that, no more exchanges until they met up at the appointed hour.

As that first time, Dempsey booked the room and informed the desk that his _wife_ would be joining him shortly. It was a joke really, a nod to their frequent undercover operations whereby the institution of marriage was the most logical camouflage. Who met their wife in a hotel room after work, stayed a couple of hours and then left again separately. Sure, husbands and wives might wanna spice things up a little with the old hooker/john scenario but that usually played out with a pick-up at the bar and the old man pretending to sneak the missus past the reception desk. Mr and Mrs Smith sounded pretty lame-o these days, like, who the hell needed the cover of respectability to get their rocks off?

It was room number thirty-two at The Hotel Eichler Mono this evening.

He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe before pulling the chair out from the dressing table-cum-desk and sitting himself down to face towards the bed.

He loved and hated the scene before him in equal measure, just the same as he loved and hated this thing he had with Harry.

Something had to change, he decided.

Did this really make her happy? Was she content with their relationship because he sure as hell wasn't. Work partners who screwed. They were living at both ends of the spectrum with nothing in between to balance them up. They didn't do anything out of hours together any more except for meeting in this hotel. He couldn't say for sure how that had come about even. Maybe at the start, this was all they'd needed, all they'd wanted because it was in some ways the culmination of their tempestuous relationship, the admission of what they'd been denying for so long. It'd been weeks since they went to the movies, to some party as each other's plus one or even just for a drink. They either worked together or had sex together and whilst he enjoyed both, the situation was sterile.

He wasn't always so great at expressing his feelings but tonight he knew he needed to give it a try.

Over the bed hung the usual aerial angled Statue of Liberty picture, a copy of which, it seemed, hung in every one of the hotel's rooms. Done in strong acrylics and framed in dark grey, it was fresh and modern and complimented the New York Skyline print behind him. Lady Liberty, the representation of freedom – what did that mean exactly Dempsey asked himself with some cynicism.

Three soft raps on the door made his heart bump in his chest and he forced himself to stay seated 'til he'd counted to five.

She wore the lightweight pink coat again but this time, her dress was simple and black as were her shoes he noted as he opened the door to her. But it wasn't about what she was wearing – she took his breath away just by being her.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologised, "there was some idiot at reception complaining about his room. Not enough pillows; plug socket not working and only one spare roll of lavatory paper… God knows what he intended to do with any more."

Harry strode in on a fragrant wave, dropped her bag on the dressing table and shrugged out of her coat.

"No problem. All adds to the anticipation, right?" Dempsey grinned, taking it off her and going to hang it with his own.

When he turned back, she was right there in front of him.

"And what exactly are you anticipating?" she queried as she hung her arms around his neck, nuzzling against his throat.

He held her to him, stroking her hair. "Spending this time with you. Being with you."

"That sounds almost romantic, Dempsey," she chided and began unbuttoning his shirt. "You'll be quoting Byron at me next!"

There she went, mocking him again when he got close to telling her how he really felt about her.

With his shirt now hanging open, Harry had moved on to tackling his belt with avidity, forcing him to relinquish his embrace.

"Whoa, slow down, Princess," he said, deliberately breaking contact with her.

She let go, having already undone the button of his trousers.

"How slow do you want it?"

Taking a step back, Harry began to unfasten the black buttons which ran down the front of her dress. The pronounced curve of her breasts was now exposed, pushed up high by the black lace-filmed confection of raspberry and black satin she wore beneath.

Dempsey's gaze dropped along with his jaw and his eyes followed her fingers as they worked their way down. He reached for her but Harry moved back again just out of range of his questing hands and continued to strip out of the dress.

"Slowly, Dempsey," she reminded playfully.

"Wow! Like… wow! You look incredible." He took a step forward but Harry gently pushed him back, watching the effect she was having on him with some satisfaction.

With the dress unbuttoned to below the waist now, she stepped out of it thus revealing the raunchily arousing cami suspender set and to Dempsey's joy, the attached black stockings Up until now, her underwear had always been sexy yet classy; lacey pastel camisole and French knickers, sheer black bra and panties, beautiful lingerie that stirred his imagination and set his pulse racing but this… this was on another level. Harry dressed this way heated his blood like nothing else ever had.

"Shit, you look hot in that… what is that, whad'ya call that get-up? A basque?"

She didn't answer him but went and hung her dress in the wardrobe, Dempsey's eyes following her appraisingly every step of the way. When she stretched to hang the garment, the cami rode up slightly and her thong-clad posterior was tantalizingly revealed to full effect.

He was glad it was summertime as it was broad daylight outside and the warm evening sunshine streamed through the window to make her skin glow and her blonde hair shine, a flow of molten gold and silver.

It had been his intention to talk to her – really talk to her about where their relationship was going but as usual, she seemed to want to avoid anything other than small-talk and get straight down to business.

And he couldn't resist her; she just looked too finger-lickin' good and he was only a man he told himself. He knew he was prone to being weak-willed and shallow when it came to the fairer sex.

He watched as she sashayed to the bed in those sexy black heels and lay down on her side to gaze up at him provocatively.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded.


	3. Hard Sell

**Chapter 3 – Hard Sell**

"Don't stop," Harry wailed over and over and Dempsey's forearm fastened across her hips pulling her back on him hard as their flesh vibrated with ecstasy. The mirror above the dressing table gave them a reflected view of their lustful paroxysm, the image drawing out and extending the pleasure until Harry's cries rent the air so loudly, Dempsey was compelled to stifle them by moving his hand from her hip and instead clamping it to her mouth.

"Oh my God," she breathed at last. "That was… I don't even know what that was!"

"Loud?" he suggested and they both laughed.

Her legs were trembling and she pushed herself up from the table, allowing Dempsey to take her in his arms to face him. In the heels, she wasn't far off his height and he found this unfamiliar perspective quite appealing.

"Hey, at least if some guest reports a murder bein' committed, there's two cops right here at the scene of the crime, huh?"

"I'm sure I wasn't that bad."

He could feel her still breathing rapidly against his chest.

He just wanted to hold her tight.

"You're right, you weren't bad, you were great – spectacular in fact."

"You weren't too shabby yourself."

"Is that a compliment?"

At her current height, she was able to metaphorically look down her nose at him with something slightly closer to the literal sense than usual.

"Not yet."

"That a fact?" he asked smoothly and Harry giggled as he nuzzled at her neck, pulling her the few steps back that separated them from the bed. "Then maybe I need another shot, my aim might've been a little off."

They fell back on the wrinkled covers where they had spent only a short time actually lying down and Dempsey eased down a shiny black strap to kiss her shoulder.

It felt so good to have her in his arms, the full length of her body pressing up against his. What he really wanted was for them to fall asleep like this now but he knew she wouldn't let that happen. When they were done they were done. Harry would get up, shower and leave him all alone with his ever-dispiriting thoughts in this desperately lonely bed.

He let his eyes drift closed, his limbs suddenly heavy with fatigue and the warmth of the evening. This was nice. It felt right and normal. It was obvious to him now that what they were doing, this 'game' was far from normal. It was no longer cool, not with Harry because Harry was worth so much more than this. He'd come to realise he wanted to be with her all the time, he missed their socialising together more than he wanted the sex and in Dempsey's world, that epiphany was a powerful and kinda scary revelation.

Lazily, his hand meandered over her bare arm, the softness of her skin at the crook of her elbow bringing a smile of tranquillity to his lips. Then to her waist where the stiff boning of lace and satin highlighted and accentuated her feminine shapeliness. Drowsily, he rested his cheek against her head where the flowery herbal scent of her hair filled his nostrils.

His mind began to wander then to that crossroads place where consciousness becomes a dream-like state.

He could see her laughing, disjointed moving images that crashed in and out of focus.

Trees and grass. A flash of perfect blue sky.

And he could hear her too, only catching odd words which meant nothing in their fragmented context but she was happy, chatting with people who meandered invisibly in the background, their voices unrecognisable.

As he edged nearer towards sleep, the volume in his head increased until it all became so loud he mentally pulled away and jerked awake to find Harry extricating herself from his arms.

"Where you goin'?" he slurred, his head straining off the pillow as he followed her movements across the room.

"I think you need your beauty sleep, Dempsey," she answered him quietly, picking up her handbag and taking her dress from the wardrobe.

Although the turning of the lock on the bathroom door made only the faintest rasping sound, to Dempsey it was the echoing clank of a prison cell – and he was on the inside.

* * *

His warden came back out into the bedroom fifteen minutes later wearing the black dress, her tanned legs bare and her hair tied up in attractively messy fashion. A whiff of freshly applied perfume followed her out as she made to fetch her coat, shoes in hand and large black bag on her shoulder.

"Forgotten somethin'?" asked Dempsey, tonelessly.

Harry turned to see him twirling the black and raspberry-red scrap of flimsy fabric around his forefinger as he lay on his side watching her.

She padded over to the bed, the coat slung across her arm and, putting the shoes down, perched on the edge as she plucked them from Dempsey's outstretched finger.

"Thanks." There was caution in her voice, detecting a sullenness about him which instinctively put her defences up.

He caught sight of the rest of the lingerie that had been stuffed inside her handbag as she tucked the thong down the side, compacting it all down, hiding away their dirty secret adventures.

Rolling over, the sheet up about his waist slipped down around his hips as he reached for his trousers on the floor beside the bed.

"Think you forgot somethin' else too."

Harry was looking down, concentrating on putting on her stilettos when Dempsey took the two notes from his wallet.

"I've only got twenty but if you wanna get that little black notebook of yours out, I'll write you an I.O.U for… what, should we say another fifty-five? Does that sound about right to you? Seventy-five – that's fifty an hour?" He offered up the two ten pound notes.

"I'm sorry?" Harry looked up, her faint smile of genuine incomprehension gradually fading as what he was suggesting registered with her. She sprang up off the bed.

Even though he'd seen it coming and could have deflected it readily enough, Dempsey accepted the hard slap to his cheek with stoicism.

Pure fury lit up Harry's blue eyes. "How dare you! You complete bastard!" she spat.

Slowly, Dempsey withdrew the money, staring at what was in his hand with exaggerated puzzlement. "Gee, I'm sorry, did I get this the wrong way around? You're paying _me_?"

He looked up into her face, watching as the fury evolved into horror.

"Don't get those cute little panties in a twist, Princess, you know my rate's gonna be low; I'm just a cheap Brooklyn boy.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to be funny?"

Dempsey was surprised to hear the crack in her voice and even more surprised by the way her chin trembled momentarily as though she was on the verge of tears.

"You see me laughin'?" he asked, coldly. "This 'arrangement' we got goin' on, how long are you plannin' for it to last? I only ask 'cause I might wanna get myself a real girlfriend in the future, y'know."

Harry turned on him fiercely. "Well you go and get yourself a 'real' bloody girlfriend then. You've got what you wanted from me – in abundance, so now we can both move on can't we?"

"Don't make out like it was me chasin' your tail!" he snarled. "That was all on you, you did all the runnin'."

Shrugging into her jacket angrily, she assured him, "Well it won't be happening again. It was a huge mistake."

"Nice, Harry, that's real nice. I'm sorry I've been such a let down but it's good to hear you admit to getting something wrong."

"Completely and utterly wrong," she confirmed. "My fault. I'd simply refused to let myself believe it was possible for your personality to be quite so emotionally stunted."

Dempsey sat bolt upright and slewed his legs over the side of the bed. "Now wait a minute, emotionally stunted? Me? This from the broad who's up, showered and outa here ten minutes after we've done the nasty! I know you got an itch to scratch, babe, but come on! If I ain't a john, I'm thinkin' I've just been back-up for a mechanical failure, here," he ranted.

"Don't pretend it's bothered you one iota. You've had exactly what you wanted off me these last few weeks in abundance – meaningless sex with no strings attached," Harry told him sharply, standing over him, her face pinched with anger.

"An' how the hell would you know what I wanted? You've never stuck around long enough to find out!" He felt at a distinct disadvantage sitting here naked on the bed whilst she looked down on him, all clean and fresh and ready to meet the world.

"Why would I when you've never shown any sign of wanting me to stay? I don't recall any soft words and tender moments, do you?" she grated. "You don't kiss me afterwards… you don't… you don't hold me… just now was…" she faltered over the unfamiliar, soul-baring words. "It never meant a thing to you, did it? Not really. It was just a relief that I never asked anything more from you than the use of our body."

Dempsey made a grab for his shorts lying on the floor and dragged them on roughly, his scowl the outward reflection of the tumultuous thunder within.

"I don't believe I'm hearin' this," Dempsey snarled, conflicting emotions tearing him up inside as her words bit. "May twelfth, Harry, that was the day you came onto me. You remember that day?"

Because he did – every heart-pumping, nerve-shredding, gloriously vital second of it...


	4. High Jinx

**Chapter 4 – High Jinx**

In his late thirties, Martin Henderson was tall and thin almost to the point of emaciation with his suit jacket hanging from his shoulders as though still on a wire coat hanger. His heavy, dark, blunt cut fringe and oversized plastic framed glasses gave him a bizarrely insectoid-like appearance made all the more peculiar by his exsanguinous pallor.

In sharp contrast, the people in his employ seemed to flit about outside in the general office like happily engaged butterflies, all young, healthy and vibrant.

"Brussels last month," he told the two detectives, "on the twelfth from Gatwick and on the sixteenth of February, he flew to Rotterdam from Heathrow."

"How far ahead were these flights booked?" Dempsey wanted to know.

The travel agent tapped at his computer. "A couple of weeks or so each time."

"And has anything been booked for this month?" asked Harry.

"There's a flight to Brussels again on the fifteenth – Friday, from Gatwick."

Stretching out in the visitors chair in front of Henderson's desk, Dempsey processed the information they'd been given. "I'm guessing there ain't no flights to Gatwick from Rotterdam."

"Correct," Henderson confirmed.

Makepeace, who had been studying the British Airways calendar on the wall behind their interviewee remarked, "It's every third Friday of the month. Our Mr Skelton is nothing if not predictable. Thank you very much Mr Henderson, you've been very helpful."

She stood and the two men followed suit.

"I'm only as good as this contraption here I'm afraid," he said, patting the cream housing of his computer terminal before taking the hand Makepeace offered and shaking it with an obsequious manner. "Please, let me know if there is anything else I can do for you, won't you." He turned to Dempsey and shook his hand with equal deference.

"Sure thing." Dempsey was finding it hard to stop himself from laughing as uncharitable thoughts of the bug-eyed monster 'B' movies from his youth sprang to mind.

They left the agency, taking the steep and twisting steps down to the shopping arcade below where narrow shop fronts displayed their wares in the dark and historical stone-built chambers.

"Would you trust that guy to send you on vacation?" Dempsey asked incredulously. "He looked like he's lived most of his life under a rock!"

"Not the ideal advertisement, was he."

The shops were shutting up for the day, fancy wrought iron shutters being drawn down and lights extinguished. It was six o'clock and although it would be a good couple of hours yet before the sun went down and daylight disappeared, the warm sunshine spilling in from either end of the small arcade only exaggerated the gloom within.

"D'you wanna call it a day?" asked Dempsey, running his hand through his hair.

"Well I don't know about you, but I've had enough. This weather's lovely but not when you're running around the city in it - sweating seems so unprofessional," she joked as she pulled the front of her blouse away from her damp breast in a token attempt at drawing some cooler air to her skin.

Dempsey popped his sunglasses on in preparation to leave, combining the action with a slight lean forward to take an audacious look down her cleavage.

"Make the most of it, Princess, this is England, it could snow tonight."

"Quite possible," she sighed, ignoring his bold stare, "it's bizarrely warm today, who knows what might happen tomorrow."

They sauntered to the arched brickwork entrance just as the sun disappeared behind a mass of grey cloud which had scudded in from nowhere.

"Jeez, it's gonna rain," said Dempsey, rolling his eyes.

"That's down to you, Dempsey, you've gone and bloody jinxed it!"

They'd barely walked a hundred yards before the heavens opened and torrential rain deluged the grey, dusty streets around them, bouncing off the pavements in a hyetal frenzy.

Instinctively, Dempsey threw an arm around her shoulders and turned them around to run back inside the Shilling Row Arcade, both laughing at the suddenness and absurdity of their predicament.

Although subjected to but a minute or two of this rain, it was heavy enough to have darkened their clothing and dampened their hair.

"Sorry 'bout that, babe," grinned Dempsey.

They had run into the shelter of a service entrance doorway, dark and cool and secluded, shutting them off from the outside world in distance and strangely, time, as though the chamber were an ancient tomb from an indeterminate era.

They were huddled close, Makepeace standing within the circle of his arms which had fallen naturally about her. She shivered.

"The temperature's dropped," Makepeace spoke quietly, the laughter of a few minutes ago reduced to a strangely enigmatic smile. "It's gone chilly."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Her skin radiated heat, his fingertips sensitive to the warmth beneath the silky material of her blouse. She gave another involuntary shiver and his arms moved tighter around her body.

Overhead, a crack of thunder blasted the skies. It reverberated about the tall building, echoing deep within the stone walls and as though it had galvanised her, Harry thrust her arms up and around his neck, lacing her fingers to pull his mouth down to hers.

It was so unexpected that he almost stopped her – almost.

He wanted to ask her where this was coming from but he really didn't care, he was just happy for it to continue. He could feel her nails digging into his skin and the urgency resonating throughout her body shot sparks of desire needling into his flesh.

She pushed herself up against him, too insistent for him to resist. Her mouth was hard against his mouth and when her tongue snaked against his own, Dempsey wasn't entirely sure how to react. This was a situation he had only ever fantasized about but this wasn't simply his imagination, this was real. Her dominance was surprising and it lead his mind to stray into other, more dangerous realms. Her hands had at some point managed to wrench his shirt free of his jeans and were now exploring beneath. He realised that he was mirroring her actions as his left hand ran around her back and his right forged a trail up over her abdomen to roughly cup her breast.

They were going too far. What the hell was happening here? Dempsey dragged his head up and was met with the ravenous eyes of his partner. Her face was flushed and her lips appeared swollen as she stared back at him wildly.

Streaks of lightning lit up the chamber from the entrance and the sound of the lashing rain mingled with the thunder sent adrenaline charging through Dempsey's veins, like he was in the middle of a gun heist.

It felt surreal, like he was getting high off of what was going on.

"We gotta slow this down," he breathed hard as her lips seared his neck.

"Why?"

"'cause this feels like it's gonna lead to an act of public indecency an' I'm ninety-nine percent certain that carries the death penalty in this country."

"You think I'm such a prude, don't you?" Her voice was low and mischievous.

"I'm more than happy for you to prove me wrong on this occasion only anyplace where there's potential for an audience to gather makes me nervous." He clasped the hands which had recommenced their roaming. "I get stage fight."

"We'll go somewhere more private then."

Her face bore a serious, determined sort of look now, the kind of expression that he was more used to associating with work-related scenarios.

"Hey, I'm a big believer in spontaneous gestures but this is definitely heat-of-the-moment stuff, Harry."

"Come on," she said tartly, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the archway on the opposite side of the chamber. "It's time you put your money where those amorous aspirations of yours are, Lieutenant."


	5. The Hotel Eichler Mono

_The site was down all night last night (11.11.18) so apologies for posting this chapter at such an odd time but I'm on my way to work and might not get the opportunity for the rest of the day._

 _Thanks for the reviews, follows and favourites (Fav's? Favouriting? Favours? - it's kind of a made up social media term so I never know how to refer to it LOL). It's so great to read your thoughts on what they're up to and I hope I can convey the reasons for their behaviour adequately in the chapter which follows this one. Chapter 7 will be the end of the story by the way._

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – The Hotel Eichler Mono**

The Hotel Eichler Mono had been in existence some sixty-odd years. It had been built in 1925 and whilst retaining it's blocky, curvaceous design, was now reduced to half its original number of rooms after being partly sold for office space in the early 1950's. Business had been poor for a number of years prior to this, the very name of the hotel, although it's owners were of Austrian origins, sounding far too Germanic to the ears of the war-battered and patriotic Londoners of the 1940's. Thus, only the central section of the building remained in use as a hotel with the frontage consisting of six levels of square white balconies in front of tall and elegant windows. Although in a good state of repair, the render was overdue a lick of paint and the font used on the external signage was reminiscent of that seen two decades earlier on` pop music billboards.

But it was a respectable enough establishment and even more importantly, only two hundred yards away from Shilling Row Arcade.

"This hotel?" Dempsey asked, looking up at the building as they dodged the traffic (but not the rain) to get across the street.

"Not the classiest of venues I'll grant you but needs must when the devil rides."

"I just meant…"

What did he mean?

"Harry, are you sure about this? I don't want you to have any regrets."

"You'd better make sure I don't then."

There was a positively sinful lilt to the words that Dempsey was completely unfamiliar with and he followed her into the original feature mahogany revolving door with a growing enthusiasm.

They were greeted cordially by the receptionist who smiled through her spiel.

"Just the one night, thank you," Harry responded.

"So that's one double room for one night," the woman said slowly as she diligently began to write the details down in a huge, antiquated leather-bound ledger. "The name, please?"

"Henderson," Harry answered without skipping a beat, making Dempsey smile. She had immediately plucked the name of the travel agent they'd just interviewed as a married name but it was more the fact that she had chosen to portray them as married at all that amused him. This wasn't an undercover they were working and there was no real need for them to be 'legit', not these days and definitely not in this hotel. So was it her genetic predisposal to present a respectable image to the world or was she just an old fashioned girl at heart?

Dempsey leaned forward a little, hanging a casual arm about her hip. "That's Mr J and Mrs H," he offered helpfully.

The receptionist took down the address Harry gave and then wanted to know if they would be wanting breakfast in the morning. Makepeace declined for them, mentioning something about a particularly early start.

"We do ask for payment in advance for a single overnight stay."

She quoted the amount and cited the payment options but before she had even finished, Harry was handing her credit card across the desk.

Feeling oddly defunct, Dempsey stood quietly whilst the transaction was completed.

"I can arrange for your luggage to be brought up?"

It was more of a stock formality than anything else as the receptionist was aware that these guests hadn't brought any bags into the reception area with them.

"No need, thank you," Harry said neutrally, brazening out the lack of explanation.

There was a split second when Dempsey saw that knowing look in the receptionist's eyes – the furtive flit of a glance between he and Harry as she sized up both them and their intentions.

"I'll just get your key then," she said brightly and turned to the large wooden cabinet of cubby holes behind her where hung an array of keys on their chunky, bulbous brass fobs.

"Room Seventeen is on the second floor and the lifts are right behind you," she smiled, holding the key out so that it was up for grabs by either party.

Dempsey let Harry take it – she seemed to be running the show and besides, it was kind of a turn-on to know she was so eager to get down to the nitty-gritty.

Once in the lift, alone and sealed away from the outside world, Dempsey caught her up in his arms. "You still got time to back out, Princess."

"I think I know my own mind."

Her words were cool but the kiss she instigated as her arms came up to hang around his neck again was hot. It lasted until the lift doors opened on the second floor.

He couldn't get his head around Harry's level of desire for him. It was like the floodgates had opened and that chemistry they'd both been so painfully aware of for so long had finally flared up and consumed her.

There wasn't a soul to be seen in the corridor and all was quiet save for the sound of their own slightly laboured breathing as they exited the lift.

"Take a right, here," Dempsey indicated the sign on the wall and took Harry's hand to steer her in the right direction. They fell into step which was more of a half run as they covered the interminably long twenty yards to the room together.

Harry let them in and having quickly surveyed the lack-lustre surroundings, threw the key onto the dressing table-cum-desk and turned to focus her attention on her partner.

"Well?" she asked, expectantly. The provocative note was belied by the flash of if not apprehension then certainly first night nerves in her burning blue eyes.

"Couldn't be better, Sergeant."

They came together in a hot flurry of exalted lust which swept them up and flung them onto the bed whereupon clothes were rent from limbs and words of passion exuded from questing lips.

He hadn't really known what to expect from her. Acquiescence? A sterile surrender, perhaps? That this event had been a fait accompli wasn't in any doubt but he had pondered the circumstances in which it might come about and wondered too how proactive Harry would be. He'd allowed himself a few wild and wonderful daydreams of course where she would take the lead and surprise him with her whip hand as it were. He liked to imagine that the finesse and ingenuity she displayed in their working environment might extend to the bedroom too… and in his mind it was sometimes her bathroom or his lounge – once it had even been the grounds of Winfield Hall, in a small copse of oak trees a little way away from the lake but then Freddy had shown up and interrupted them… was that weird?

After several minutes of naked parry, Dempsey denied himself the temptation of the swift cut and thrust option which the urgency of the moment seemed to dictate. Instead, he held Harry back from the physical demands she was making on him, restraining her on the bed in crucifixion attitude and tenderly coaxing her into submission with mouth and tongue, leaving no sweet-spot undiscovered.

He knew he was no novice in this department, but the way Harry responded to him was truly something to behold. All that sexual energy was harnessed by his touch, both soothing and inflaming, her body completely at his command. He had time to study her, every glorious inch and it felt as though he was a heathen laying hands on sanctified flesh. She was his angel at last.

The dominance with which she had brought them to this hotel room had vanished and what remained was charged, fomented and quite irregularly for Makepeace – compliant.

The combativeness had evaporated slowly as Dempsey turned the heat up and he had felt her melt in his arms. And it was with a sense of wonder that he finally moved so powerfully yet reverently inside her, the intensity of their union like nothing he had known before. Harry's exalted cries sang in his ears and he let go, hearing his own dispatch as if from afar.

They were silent for a minute or so save for their ragged breath as they settled back to earth, Dempsey still lying between her legs, propped on his forearms, his face buried in her hair.

He chuckled faintly, trying to take in what had just happened.

"That was somethin' else!"

"Yes."

"Yes?" he queried through a gappy smile. "That all you got for me?" He recognised ecstasy when he saw and heard it and Harry had definitely been in the zone.

"Thank you?" she suggested with a strangely detached coolness.

"Come on, Makepeace, you can do better than that." He lifted his head up to read her expression. "From where I was lyin' it was Armageddon meets the fourth of July all wrapped up in silver paper with a sprinkle of fairy dust on top!"

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

She looked up at him with an indulgent smile, her face aglow with perspiration. "You'd better let me up," she said brightly, patting his back to indicate that she needed him to move.

"It wasn't a line." He felt almost offended. "It was from the heart… Hey, where you goin'?"

She'd slid out from under him and was now on her feet.

"Well, I don't know about you but I've got things to do this evening. Whilst this 'romantic interlude' was lovely, I'm afraid I've really got to go."

Dempsey sat abruptly. "What? You're kiddin' me, right? Come on, Harry, we need to talk about what just went down here. It was a big deal!"

She collected her bra from the foot of the bed and made a final sweep, satisfied now that she had gathered up all the items of clothing he had wrenched from her body less than an hour earlier.

"I know. You're right, it _is_ a big deal. It was hanging in the air between us for a long time and I'm glad we've been able to get past it now."

That bewildered Dempsey even more. "Okaaaay," he said slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around what she was saying. "Get past it…?"

"Well, obviously it's been an issue, hasn't it?" she said matter-of-factly. "Will we or won't we?" Her eyes widened as she jocosely posed the question. "So now we have and we can get on with being colleagues again."

Harry's blue eyes fixed upon him with steady resolve as she shielded her body from him with her armful of clothing.

Dempsey frowned. "I guess that's, erm…. sensible." He didn't like that word though, never had.

Smiling briefly, she turned and hurried to the bathroom, leaving him wondering what the hell was going on in her head.

And this evening, a month later, he was still wondering…


	6. Crossed Lines

**Myrtle - You were right about the credit card but I like to think Harry had other things on her mind at the time and the receptionist had them sussed anyway :-D**

 **Myrtle and Mini Metro - You couldn't have been more spot on with your 'getting him out of her system' comments. In fact, MM, you've been right pretty much every step of the way LOL**

 **Apologies for the lateness of this chapter go out in particular to Amanda B. and *Amanda K. #DemandingAmandas :-D**

 ***It must be 3:30!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – Crossed Lines**

"May twelfth was the day I thought it was all gonna change for us. An' I guess it did only I didn't realise it wouldn't be for the better. Feels like I lost you. I still got my partner and I got an enthusiastic…" he hesitated, tempted to sting her but instead continued with, "bed mate." He gave a ruefully sardonic grin, "a _very_ enthusiastic bed mate… but I lost a friend."

She blinked rapidly and he got the impression it was the last part that had stung - how he'd chosen to frame the structure of their relationship was of no importance.

"I need for you to be honest with me, Harry," he carried on. "What's goin' on with us? 'cause if this is the way it's gonna be, I don't want it. I want the whole package or nothin'."

That appeared to wrong-foot her. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. She couldn't speak it seemed, until she had played the words over again in her mind.

"The… the whole package?" she stumbled at last.

"I want more from you than casual sex in a hotel room, Harry!" he told her with exasperation.

"You might think you do but really, you're quite happy with the situation the way it is."

"You ain't got the first, baby," he said bitterly.

"Oh, I think I have. You're a player of women. It's what you do. You get off on manipulating the doe-eyed and the smitten and anything else is a challenge."

That actually made him angry, not for the fact that her caustic critique was damningly accurate but more that she couldn't see how, over the last few weeks, he'd changed. All he could think about now was her and how he was going to alter the way things were between them. At first that emotional coolness had been exciting and intriguing, making the physical side flare and burn hotly in contrast. It was energising, this clandestine behaviour, it was raw and sexy and they both kind of lost themselves in the sheer wild exhilaration. But now Dempsey knew he needed more than that hot, lustful sex – he needed tenderness. More than anything, he wanted to make love with her. He wanted a thousand years to appreciate the warmth and the feel of her soft, silky skin and a thousand more to tell her with velvet declarations what she had come to mean to him. But Harry wouldn't let that happen. He had tried. This evening he had encouraged her to bring things down a notch, pinning her beneath him like a beautiful captured butterfly, nuzzling into her neck and whispering pretty words whilst he loved her. Only, she hadn't let him get away with that, writhing with horny intent and insisting with demanding hands and dirty mouth that she be satisfied in ways Dempsey had only fantasised about.

Now these liaisons had become a regular feature, he was able to take a step back and wonder at their tenability. He was scared to death of losing her. If they carried on like this there was a real danger that what they had would burn itself out.

And now here she was painting him black as night the minute he tried to tell her how he really felt about her.

He shook his head despondently. "I've always enjoyed a challenge, Harry but you're the challenge that just keeps on challenging."

She fixed him with a furious, frustrated glare before turning away angrily.

She was going. She was leaving him alone in the hotel room again only this time, he had determined, it would be for the last time because he couldn't live like this any longer.

"What if I've changed?" he blurted, causing her to faulter at the door.

He had to try, conscious that this was probably his last shot at… at what? Hanging onto her? But 'hanging on' implied a tenuous connection, a certain desperation in a dying relationship. He didn't want to hang on; he wanted _them_ , all or nothing.

"If you walk out now, Harry, that's the end of everything. You realise that, don't you?" he asked with stern calm. "Don't you think I at least deserve a chance? I've followed your lead. You said I'm a player, well these last few weeks I've been playin' _your_ game by _your_ rules. What did you expect me to do when you were makin' all the moves?"

She had her hand on the door handle and a trapped and anxious expression passed fleetingly across her face.

"It's called playing you at your own game, Dempsey."

He knew that smugness was pure bravado.

"Okay you win. No question about it." He held his hands up in resignation. "Now can we move on?"

"That's what I'm doing. It was fun I suppose but let's not pretend it was ever going to be anything more."

He wasn't buying this casual, sour attitude. There was no flint in those soft, blue eyes.

"I wanna know what's goin' on with you. I know you… least, I thought I did. You ain't the kinda girl who goes to the rodeo with any guy who asks her. It has to mean somethin'."

"The rodeo?"

That brought the faintest of reluctant smiles but he latched onto it, grinning. "Yeah, the rodeo." he confirmed, hoping that humour might draw her back.

"What if I've changed too?" Harry asked quietly.

"Then we can meet someplace in the middle, how 'bout that?"

She shook her head stiffly. "It wouldn't work."

"Why not?"

"Because we obviously entered into this… thing, for different reasons."

"I don't think so."

He refused to move his eyes from hers, forcing her to speak again.

"I wanted sex with you – just sex because…" she couldn't keep the eye contact going and transferred her gaze to his right shoulder, "because I wanted to get it over with. Because I wanted to get you out of my system."

"Hey, we've done this six times already - nine if we're counting when we went again! You ain't managed to purge me yet?" She didn't reply and he could see she was working on her composure. "So you thought you'd jump my bones an' prove to yourself that I ain't worth your time."

"That's about the size of it I suppose."

She might as well have slapped him across the face again.

"Gotta tell ya, Harry, that's cold."

He had slunk back to the bed and now sat on the edge, his forearms resting heavily on his thighs.

"Why should it matter to you? I didn't disappoint, did I?"

"Quit with the ice-bitch routine, it don't suit you, Princess," he ground darkly. "An' you know somethin', I ain't buyin' it anyway."

"I really don't care whether you do or you don't to be honest so…"

"You care, Harry," he interrupted, "I know you do otherwise you wouldn't of had me comin' back to this place with you time after time."

"Or maybe, Dempsey," she said snidely, "you really are that good. Give yourself a gold star."

"We're good _together_. And we'd be even better if you didn't act like I was a stranger to you afterwards. I can't hold you… I don't kiss you afterward because you won't _let_ me. You think I don't wanna do those things? You put up such a frickin' high wall between us! It's like you don't _want_ to feel anything for me."

She looked down at him, her expression impossible to decipher. "And what would be the point in that?"

Suddenly, Dempsey couldn't stand it any more; something snapped and he leapt up, lurching forwards to grab her upper arms.

"I told you to quit this. You don't see what you're doin'? I'm dyin' here. I don't know where I stand with you no more!"

He was right up in her face, made hostile by his wounds but he couldn't stop himself. Dempsey was in torment.

"I won't let you use me." The words crackled from her mouth like ice breaking across a pond and her blanched complexion was highlighted by the suffusion of redness about her eyes as her emotions overpowered her.

And there it was.

"USE YOU!" He let his hands fall from her arms. "Use you?" he repeated as though hearing it again might clarify the meaning. "Jesus Christ, Harry! What do you think I am?"

"That's just it, Dempsey, I don't think I know," she told him hoarsely.

"What does that mean? Talk to me. Let me in. 'cause from where I'm standin', it's you who's been doin' the using, sweetheart."

"I know what'll happen... what _would've_ happened," she corrected herself, "if we'd gone on the way we were, before all this..." She cast a hand out with an air of misery. "I'd have let myself be sweet-talked into bed... and I wouldn't have been enough. You'd have got bored just like you always do." Harry swallowed down her distress with a gulp.

His mouth had gone dry. Everything was shattering around him in slow motion as the shards of explanation embedded themselves and he shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the realisation growing within him. "You don't trust me? You don't think I'm capable of a monogamous, grown-up relationship, is that it? Is that what this has all been about?"

He watched her eyes grow wet until the first tear split out and rolled down her cheek.

"I've seen very little evidence to date," she said stiffly, dignity holding her immobile.

"So what the hell is goin' on here, huh? If I'm such a piece of shit, why put yourself through the mental torture of fucking me?" He was still angry but the single tear had found a chink and he heard himself sigh with exasperation.

Harry closed her eyes as she steadied her nerve. "Because I…" she blinked away another tear, "because I'm…"

"… secretly in love with me," Dempsey finished for her with a bitter laugh. "Gee, all this time an' I never knew."

His mocking tone died on the air as he saw her face begin to crumble just before she turned on her heel to wrench the door of the room open and bolt out into the corridor.

Without a second thought, Dempsey caught the door before it swung shut and followed her out, making another grab for her.

"Hey! Hey, Harry! Come on, where you goin'? Talk to me."

She shook him off violently. "Just forget it," she cried, fury and tears marring her beautiful features like a mask. "Forget everything. I fell right into your trap so now you can laugh yourself silly at my expense can't you."

"D'you mean it? You're serious?" he beamed, completely ignoring what she'd just said. "You're in love with me?" It came out a gurgled, delighted laugh.

Harry dashed a tear from her eye and stood defiant. "Bloody hilarious, isn't it? How could I be so stupid? But don't worry, I'm sure I'll get over it, after all, it's a fine line between love and hate, so they say."

Reaching out, Dempsey gently took her by the wrists before sliding his arms around her, feeling his chest tighten and expand with the sheer exhilaration of the moment they were in.

"We've already done the hate part, Princess, way back. Once you've crossed over that line, there ain't no goin' back again."

He leaned in to kiss tenderly at that area of her neck just below her ear and both heard and felt a tiny intake of breath. "Is that what this has all been about, keeping me -w your feelings for me at arms' length? Because you thought that me hurting you was a foregone conclusion? Kill or be killed, was that it?"

Harry didn't try to break away from his embrace but neither did she show any sign of wanting to be there.

"Your track record speaks for itself. Your girlfriends never tend to feature for very long on your social calendar, do they? I can't think of one who you've dated longer than a few weeks, and they're just the ones who've even warranted a mention. As soon as you get them into bed, the novelty wears off and you're on to the next one."

"An' how would you know that?" He found himself deliberately lowering the pitch of his voice, keeping it light for fear of this tentative conversation degenerating into a verbal war. "I've discussed my sex life with you? Anything I might of told you has been non-specific, no details. I don't kiss an' tell. You choose to flesh it out with assumptions, that's up to you. Hey, not sayin' I'm a saint but maybe I ain't the womanising lowlife you make me out to be either. Don't let it stymie whatever chance we got of makin' this work."

Yeah, so he was definitely no saint but it was true he'd never talked about his 'romances' in any depth with Harry. On occasion, she'd bumped into a few of his female 'acquaintances' and he might have been guilty of pouring it on thick to check out her reaction, just out of curiosity. Anything else she knew she had probably gleaned from conversation amongst the boys at SI-10 where in truth, Dempsey wasn't particularly averse to having a reputation for being a ladies' man. And of course there was a possibility she was reading between the lines just a little too. It wasn't like she had hard facts and figures to be using as ammunition.

She bit at her lower lip and he could see her mind was raking over the information. "This?" she asked.

"Us," he clarified. "Clearly 'this'," he indicated the room behind them, "works great. But maybe we could try the dating thing too, you know, just for convention's sake. The hotel reception think I'm some kind of gigolo," he smiled into her ear in a confidential tone.

But Harry didn't seem convinced of anything.

"Are you making fun of me?" she asked warily.

"A little, maybe. 'cause you deserve it for treating me like a piece of meat." He stroked her cheek, looking lovingly into her eyes and he felt her relax just a fraction.

"That wasn't my intention… I just… I knew it was the only way I could… be with you. I didn't want to feel vulnerable, I just couldn't bear that."

He could tell she had chosen that word carefully and she was waiting now for his response.

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I didn't see it. The way you've been these past few weeks, 'vulnerability' was the furthest thing from my mind."

She blushed and that endeared her to him all the more, the things they'd done together and yet she still got all red faced over a throwaway comment.

"And I'm guilty of keepin' everything I got goin' on for you under wraps too. Shoulda said somethin' sooner. You've always meant a whole lot more to me than a notch on the bedpost."

Now this was the hard part for him. It had been so easy to let Harry do the running, unexpected and exciting, so much so that at the start, he'd pretended it would all fall into place naturally, that the love expressed between the sheets would translate into words sooner or later. That they both struggled with their feelings for each other was apparent and he got the impression that Harry struggled, period. Not a natural-born sharer.

Harry suddenly drew herself up in his arms and turned herself in a slight ducking motion towards the wall.

"You might want to go back into the room," she murmured.

It was only then that Dempsey was drawn to recalling his state of undress as carpet-cushioned footfall reached his ears.

"Shit," he swore softly but chose to brazen it out with a cavalier swivelling of his head to look the two approaching hotel guests in the eye.

"Good evening! Unseasonably warm for the time of year." He gave the couple a cheery little salute that made Harry cringe.

They both mumbled a 'good evening' in return, the woman regarding then with a frown whilst the male companion seemed to view the situation with rather more amusement.

They passed on, single file and eyes averted.

It had at least lightened the situation and they were able to unite in a humorously shame-faced grin.

Pressing his forehead against Harry's, Dempsey said, "Come on, let's go back inside. I'm puttin' on a free show out here."

"Does _nobody_ want you for your mind!?" she asked sardonically.

Going back to their door, Dempsey was relieved to find it hadn't closed behind them. It had crossed his mind that if it had swung to and clicked shut, they would have been locked out and he would've been left standing in the corridor waiting for Harry to return with some smirking housekeeper whilst he tried to cover his further embarrassment with wisecracks. A bedroom farce, he could do without.

"Look, what you said before… you get that I'm… that the feeling is mutual, right?"

"It is?" she asked lightly.

"Most definitely. And if you're available, I'd like to tell you exactly how mutual that feeling is over dinner."

"Now?" The question was more out of earnest trepidation than a desire to confirm his plans but it came out sounding quite wrong anyway, as though she already had plans of her own which he was trying to disrupt.

"What, you don't wanna eat or you don't wanna hear about my interpretation of 'mutual'?"

Why did she have to make it so hard for him?

She was perched on the edge of the unmade bed, stiff and perfectly poised, looking up at him with wary uncertainty.

"I don't know, is your interpretation likely to put me off my food?"

What did she want – blood?

"Christ's sake, I'm tryin' to tell you that I love you!… that I want us to be together." He ran a hand through his hair with a pained expression. "I love you too," he told her softly, resigned to whatever fate might throw at them now.


	7. Verklempt

This is the final chapter of Room Service. I hope you've enjoyed the story. Thanks for all the reviews - I'm very grateful :-)))

 **Chapter 7 - Verklempt**

The early morning sunshine flowed in through the tall windows of the room in The Harding Hotel, Camden, lying like a blanket of gold across the lower half of the bed and warming his legs beneath the chintzy coverlet. The heavy draperies had remained drawn back throughout the night to allow some fresh air into the room via the open top lights although there had been no breeze and with all three windows being on the same wall, no through-draft either. It hadn't been uncomfortably hot in the room during the night but a slight stuffiness had prevailed making Dempsey glad to see bright blue skies and fluttering leaves in front of him now. The Silver Birch trees which fronted the property grew up beyond the height of the windows and when he shrugged himself up higher on his pillows, he was able to view the tops of the much lower Crepe Myrtle trees, the sheer vibrancy of their deep pink flowers making his heart swell.

 _Worlds apart_

With a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, he took a minute to check out the pictures hanging on the walls; pretty little still-lifes of bowls of fruit and baskets of flowers ornately framed and grouped together above the high chest of drawers. A series of botanical illustrations, each a print of a delicately hand drawn member of the Pterodophytes or 'fern' family, was placed over the console table where a real Boston fern in a bone china planter sat. Not that Dempsey had any particular interest in any of this but he could at least appreciate the overall ambiance the artwork lent to the room.

There was too much of what he would term, _bric-a-brac_ about the place; fancy clutter and fake antiquities. All the dark mahogany, the panelling around the lower half of the walls, the wardrobe, two chests of drawers, the ottoman, all nice pieces but just too much in this one room with the deep red carpet. A couple of high-backed federal style armchairs sat either side of the large central window, both upholstered in a cream striped satiny fabric, their serpentine arms and sturdy square legs all but lost against the mahogany panelling they stood against. If it wasn't for the creamy yellow of the light floral pattern wallpaper, it would've felt like a mausoleum in here, he decided.

Maybe he was making the mistake of comparing it to Winfield Hall.

He'd spent time there and had felt history seep into his bones. He'd learnt to recognise and appreciate the real deal and this carefully constructed imitation, whilst its heart was in the right place, just wasn't doing it for him.

But he was being unfair. This wasn't an ancestral pile and never had been. It was just another hotel, quaint, yes – expensive, certainly and he'd known worse without a doubt.

He glanced over to the botanical illustrations again and smiled, remembering the New York skyline prints of The Hotel Eichler Mono and the impersonal feel of the place.

 _No pleasing some people._

But the truth was, he really didn't give a damn what hotel he was in.

With a sigh of contentment, he rose from the cosy confines of the tester bed and knocked smartly on the door to the en-suite.

"Honey? You done in there? I gotta pee."

The door opened abruptly and Harry stood before him wrapped in a white fluffy towel, toothbrush in hand.

"Well don't stand on ceremony, James, it isn't like I haven't seen it all before is it?"

He grinned as she moved aside to admit him and made for the toilet. "Just my roundabout way of getting you to move your ass. I don't wanna miss my breakfast 'cause I worked up a _real_ appetite," he grinned. "You smell those pancakes?"

Harry spat toothpaste into the sink and quickly rinsed before sniffing the air appreciatively. "Mmmmmm. But I want mine with blueberries, **not** bacon," she stipulated, brandishing her toothbrush at him. "I don't do that sweet and savoury thing."

"I need to educate you on that score." He finished and moved beside her to rinse his hands.

"I think you'll find it's me who will be doing the educating," Harry said, her free hand reaching out to jab a finger into his chest. Her haughty expression was momentary, collapsing rapidly under the weight of Dempsey's lovingly indulgent smile.

His hand closed around the accusing finger and brought it to his lips. "You can teach me aaaall about the sweet stuff, baby," he said suggestively.

Harry leaned up against him to wrap one arm around his waist and propping her hand still bearing the toothbrush on his shoulder, looked up into his eyes as she murmured, "I think we should've ordered breakfast in bed."

"With extra maple syrup," he added.

She laughed and placed a playful, minty kiss on his mouth. "Sounds a bit messy to me."

"Yeeeeeah," he beamed, "don't it just."

Harry was happy – so ridiculously happy.

 _Initially, being in love with this man had been such a painful and seemingly hopeless situation. She didn't understand how it had happened even. He wasn't her type; too big a personality, too rough around the edges, too… everything! It was a joke really. But what was it they said about opposites attracting? That he 'fancied' her, there had never been any doubt but that did not a sincere, romantic relationship make she informed herself repeatedly as her feelings for him started to evolve into the unimaginable. It was scary, knowing that she was falling for somebody who could never reciprocate her love for them. How could she ever be loved back in the way she needed when she knew he wasn't the kind to take the relationship seriously. It wasn't that she had some overpowering urge to marry again and have children but she had to know that there was at least the potential for that to happen with whoever she fell in love with and Dempsey had never revealed to her any inclination to settle down with anybody._

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I do believe we've missed a trick here."

"How's that?" he asked, taking the toothbrush from her and dropping it into one of the glass toothmugs at the sink before turning back to give her his full attention.

"Well, just imagine if we _had_ ordered room service…"

He had his arms about her, regarding her make-up free complexion with fascination.

"Uh huh."

Nobody else got to see her like this. Women felt exposed without the war paint, didn't they? A girl he'd been seeing once told him she'd rather walk down the street naked than leave the house without the slap. Did Harry feel the same? Did she feel vulnerable without that protective veil? Then he was one helluva lucky guy 'cause he got to see this beautiful, unguarded face on a regular.

Her blue eyes sparkled as she told him, "As I said, it would probably have got quite messy with all that maple syrup buuuuuut... I was just thinking, we could've made use of this rather large shower afterwards… together."

Dempsey dropped her like a hot brick and exited the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "I just gotta make a call. Maybe it ain't too late to order up."

Bolting after him, Harry launched herself at him with a giggling shriek of protest as he landed on the bed, making a grab for the 'phone. "Noooooo, you can't, they'll know what we're getting up to!"

"Like they don't know already?!" he yelled, playfully.

She wriggled up the length of his body, stretching to wrestle the handset from him as he held it just out of reach. The action dislodged the wedge of towel between her breasts so that it partly slid away and they were lying together, torso to torso.

 _She had committed an act of madness – repeatedly. It just wasn't her. She still couldn't believe it even now, what she had done to get her man. She had never realised it was possible to need someone like she'd needed Dempsey. It hadn't been just about the sex – it was more the feeling of completeness the act instilled, the oneness, the merging of their bodies that was the embodiment of her love for him. But he didn't love her back – or so she'd thought – and the only way she could handle what she was doing was to be in total control and not let him see the power he had over her. She had to be the one wielding the power; cool, detached and dispassionate enough to have him begging for more because she had decided in her own mind that if he knew the truth, he would have won, and in her mind, leaving him hungry for a new conquest._

"Hello? Room service?" Dempsey said into the dead air of the unconnected receiver. "I need you to send breakfast up to room seven. I'm gonna need a pancake stack about yay high…" he held his other hand out flat, mid-air to indicate a great height, "an' a quart - no, wait, better make that a gallon jug of maple syrup." He pretended to be listening for a moment before he responded, "What's that? Do I want bacon? No, hold the bacon, in fact, hold the pancakes too, I just want the syrup so's I can drizzle it all over the hot bod of this gorgeous, incredibly beautiful woman I got here in bed with me."

"You're such an idiot," Harry laughed.

"But you love me anyway, right?" he asked, grinning as he brought one arm around her in a tender, loving gesture.

"I do."

He strained to one side to replace the receiver on its base before turning back to her and gently rolling Harry over so that they were facing each other.

"I like when you say that. Gets me all verklempt."

"What did I say and what is ' _verklempt,_ exactly?"

There was a softness in his gaze that caused her to hold her breath for a moment.

"You said 'I do'.

"I did, didn't I." She traced a finger along his bottom lip and smiled as she gazed back at him through lowered lashes. "And verklimpt… verklamped…?" she queried. "Is it something terribly naughty?"

The warm New England sunshine streamed down on their entwined limbs and the faint scent of Camden, Maine's salty coastal air acted like an aphrodisiac.

"Verklempt," he reiterated. "An' it's something nice."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Jewish guy I served with in 'nam," Dempsey began. "I got an invitation to his wedding a few months after we finished the tour. His mother, her mother, all the aunts and basically anyone over the age of sixty went around declaring themselves 'verklempt' the whole time."

"So it's a marriage-related term? What does it actually mean?"

"It's being overcome with emotion… too emotional to speak. Gettin' high on love an' joy!" his dark voice rang out melodiously.

"Verklempt," she repeated with clarity. "I quite like that," and then said teasingly, "you were quite verklempt on Saturday as I recall."

Dempsey chuckled and dipped his head down to nuzzle into her neck. "Yeah, well, ain't a guy allowed to get a little verklempt on his wedding day, Mrs D?"

 **The End**


End file.
